Star Wars: The Old Republic: Peacemaker
by Celleron
Summary: Set more than 3000 years before the rise of Vader. The Cold War following the Treaty of Coruscant is upon us. Join Jedi Knight Dja-Ke Saden on his journey to understand the Force, his role in the universe, and himself.
1. Prologue

It was a beautiful morning in Tython. The cool air was crisp and tinged with just the right amount of moisture. Any being that drew breath inhaled the lower atmosphere copiously, and they do so with joy, relishing each icy dewdrop - the natural world in all of its unspoilt glory, so bright and _alive_ from every distant birdcall to each rustling of the leaves. And in it, the Force manifested itself so palpably – all in its warm yet soothing currents.

It was one of the few luxuries that Dja-Ke Saden, Jedi Knight of the Order, allowed himself to savor.

It was for that particular reason that Dja-Ke often found himself sitting cross-legged on a deserted balcony of the Temple Arboretum, relishing the quiet respite of meditation. It was another luxury that has become so precariously scarce among the Jedi who now dwell in Tython; within the limited space of the Order's new Temple.

The thought of his upcoming mission however, did not help him in the slightest in attaining inner peace. His official briefing will be conducted later on in the day and he was almost certain that his next assignment would either take him to more sites of conflict, Balmorra or Ord Mantell just to name a few. The prospect of either one however did not thrill him as missions normally did. Dja-Ke's lack of enthusiasm did not stem from a lack of duty or loyalty, but by the fact that he would not be undertaking the mission alone.

Accompanying him to his next assignment was his new apprentice.

_One that was forced upon me_, thought Dja-Ke.

Despite his misgivings, the report on Oren Dorr, human male, aged twelve impressed him. Dja-Ke was half-expecting a youngling straight from the academies – not suitable at all for the battlefield – when he viewed the holo-mail from his former Master.

It was a short recorded message, one that told him of his former Master's success in picking a 'suitable' Padawan for Dja-Ke and a written assessment of the boy. Although not especially thrilled, a hastily written "Very competent duelist" from the enclave master caught his eye amidst the average assessment of young Oren.

_Jedi or not, war is no place for children_, Dja-Ke thought grimly.

It was a view that the Council did not seem to share.

Every standard week came the news of many Knights and some Masters requesting new apprentices; the very same Jedi who took on new apprentices the week before. Images of eager – yet inexperienced – Padawans dead in the hands of Imperial troops flashed before Dja-Ke's mindscape.

With an audible sigh, Dja-Ke banished the thought.

Meditation after all, was designed to aid him in ridding of such… turbulent thoughts. He would just need to tell Master Qaric of his decision to not take a Padawan learner, at least for the time being. But he will do that later - much later in the day. With a silent recitation of the Jedi Code, the young Knight's mind is stilled once more.

Such serenity however, was not present in the mind of a small hooded figure standing behind the balcony's transparisteel door. Adrenaline raced like speeders through the stranger's body and the exhilarating prospect of engaging his target - Dja-Ke Saden, coated his palms with a layer of sweat; he felt no fear, only excitement.

With a sweeping gesture of his left hand, the balcony door went crashing to its electronic hinges, the loud _snap-hiss_ of scorching plasma soon followed. With a running start that could rival a swoop-bike, the hooded figure leapt into the air, his lightsaber ignited, angled downwards to strike the still-meditating Dja-Ke.

A sudden localized ripple in the Force however, was enough to shake Dja-Ke out of his meditative stupor and he rolled to the side with a burst of Force-aided speed.

A loud hiss emanated from the spot where had sat before. A lightsaber – no doubt meant for Dja-Ke - plunged deep into the wooden floor of the balcony, spitting sparks all the while.

To say that Dja-Ke was surprised would be an understatement. At the spot where he had leisurely meditated seconds ago stood a figure – definitely humanoid. The figure wore a brown robe; both sleeves and leggings fluttered freely with the breeze, the article of clothing a few sizes too big. A low-slung hood cast an impenetrable shadow over the stranger's face.

It was an almost comical image, barring the facts at hand.

Dja-Ke immediately brought himself to a standing position and reached for his lightsaber. He was surprised to see that the assailant was smaller than he thought. Standing no more than five feet, Dja-Ke would deduce the figure to be a Gand, or Bothan – although the lack of either a respirator or visible fur proved otherwise.

The mysterious attacker pulled his lightsaber free from the balcony floor. He flicked a small switch on its hilt and held the weapon with a two-handed grip, keeping the blade close to the right side of his head. As if on cue, the assailant dashed towards him with an overhead strike. Dja-Ke met the blow with horizontal parry, only to block another swing – this time aimed at his right thigh.

Sparks flew across the balcony as their lightsabers met. Using the Force to pinpoint his leaps and elaborate flourishes with his lightsaber, he rained acrobatic spins and slashes on Dja-Ke. This was Ataru in its most holotext form, all-encompassing in its aggressiveness. If a spectator had witnessed this fight, he would have commented on how the Jedi Knight - who towered over his assailant for at least a standard foot, was reduced into using his lightsaber to defend himself, only with the occasional riposte or two did he attack the blur that surrounded him.

A particularly light swat against Dja-Ke's defenses however, prompted him to angle a swiping cutat his opponent's lightsaber hilt.

The battle would have been easily won if Dja-Ke's attempt at a disarm was successful. Instead, he saw his opponent tucking his legs in a crouch-jump and only with agility bolstered by the Force that the attacker managed to whirl gracefully in the air not once, but twice. Dja-Ke's singular focus on executing _sun djem_ had inadvertently left his guard open; a fact that he anticipated with silent contempt the moment he felt a leather-clad boot connecting solidly with his jaw.

As if struck by a concussive charge, Dja-Ke sailed through the air. The Jedi Knight had been on the receiving end from a variety of physical strikes one too many times to know that it was not a mere acrobatic kick. The Force surged with it, sending him through the air with its telekinetic buoyancy.

But Dja-Ke too called upon the Force, and with it, he managed to reorient himself in mid-air. He landed scant inches in front of the balcony balustrade in a crouch, only to see his opponent charging at him yet again, lightsaber raised high.

Dja-Ke stood his ground. Practitioners of Ataru were trained to batter through defenses with acrobatic ease, especially with the vast amount of both vertical and horizontal space of the balcony. Dja-Ke's thoughts drifted to Soresu – the Resilience Form, and how he could employ that particularly defensive style to his advantage. Form III however, was notorious for its passivity and Dja-Ke knew that the last thing he wanted was a war of attrition.

_Makashi?_ Dja-Ke thought; surely the deft strikes and counterattacks offered by Form II could effectively halt Ataru's mobility. Dja-Ke's particular expertise however, lay not in those forms; instead, he readied his lightsaber to the side and brought his right foot forward – completing the opening stance of Form VI. With a gesture of his open palm, Dja-Ke called upon the Force to halt his attacker's stride. He allowed himself the smallest of smiles when his opponent's legs buckled under the telekinetic pull.

The attacker however, did not surrender easy. Dja-Ke lost sight of his target momentarily as the mysterious attacker used the falling momentum into a low roll. Allowing no respite, he lunged towards his downed opponent.

Again, his opponent did not yield. Instead, folds of brown cloth fluttered freely as he leapt over Dja-Ke's head and unleashed a scoop-cut that would have cleanly lopped it off, if it connected.

With a slight sway to the left, Dja-Ke felt the fine dusting of hair follicles on the side of his cheek being singed off as the hot hum of a lightsaber whizzed mere millimeters past. It was not a perfect dodge however, for where the saber had missed his head - it grazed his right shoulder.

Ignoring the hot sting, Dja-Ke continued with his plan of attack and from his left arm, he unleashed a Force push – sending his already airborne opponent flying across the arboretum balcony.

After several seconds of free-fall, the figure landed on the wooden floor with far less grace than ever before, messily skidding to a stop with his back against one of the many plasteel doors leading inside. He tried to stand, only to stop in mid-kneel as he felt the heat of Dja-Ke's lightsaber beside the column of his neck. To Dja-Ke's surprise, it was a very thin and most notably, a very _human_ neck.

It was in this very moment that the right combination of barometric pressure and planetary rotation caused Tython's atmosphere to unleash a gust of wind, one that ran from the planet's icy mountaintops through each hollow of its forests and into the Jedi Temple.

The wind blew strong, enough to send both fighters' garments to a quivering mess. It was this gust of wind that swept backwards the hood of the small figure. Staring back at Dja-Ke was neither Gand nor Bothan.

Instead, it was a human boy. His blond hair gleamed white under the sun - cut too short to even reach his ears; cheeks flushed with exertion, his carbonite-gray eyes held a mixture of fear and something else. It was excitement, and the emotion rolled from the boy in waves. Dja-Ke need not use the Force to sense that this was no Sith emotion, this was naked excitement – innocent in its unbridled passion.

"You are skilled. But you are no assassin." Said Dja-Ke with as much authority as he could muster. The boy remained both silent and stalwart in his gaze.

Dja-Ke thumbed off his lightsaber. "What is your name young one?" He added, already half-expecting the answer - his tone softer this time.

"Oren." The boy answered. "Oren Dorr." And before Dja-Ke could reply, Oren said: "And you are Master Dja-Ke Saden. The_ Peacemaker_."

"Yes, but-"

"Am I going to be your Padawan?"

"I don't know just yet." Dja-Ke lied, but hid it well. "Do you always try to kill your prospective masters, Oren?" He offered a hand for the boy to stand.

"Only the famous ones." Replied Oren with a crooked smile. Dja-Ke could not help but return the smile with one of his own.

As he ushered him back inside the Temple, Dja-Ke could not help but notice that his shoulder – which should be in dire need of bacta – was not hurting at all.

_The look on Master Qaric's face should be priceless._ Mused Dja-Ke.


	2. Chapter 1

"He did what?" Said Master Qaric Zen, his voice uncharacteristically raised in a show of rare surprise.

"I've instructed him and the others during my time in Dantooine, and yes I knew he was quite the impulsive one. But I would assume that he be content with childish pranks and tomfoolery in which he delights so." Even in his later years, the tall Lorrdian paced about his private quarters – which was littered with stray datapads and strewn memory chips – indeed Qaric Zen was infamous in his love for organized clutter more so than many of his other peculiarities.

"With all due respect Master, it was certainly a practical joke of the highest caliber." Dja-Ke stood opposite his old Master with both arms behind his back. A gesture of reverence, even if the playful grin on his face suggested otherwise.

Whether or not Master Qaric heard his former apprentice mattered not, for he continued in the same wild manner as he did before. "The boy did not just stop at putting salt inside beverage dispensers, no. He attacked you. You! It's a good thing that you saw through the charade or he would've been gravely injured. Or worse." Master Qaric emphasized grimly on 'worse'.

"Thank you for the vote of confidence Master Qaric." Dja-Ke said flatly – masking the pride that threatened to swell from beneath him.

"I suppose it can't be helped." The Lorrdian Jedi Master spoke with resignation this time. "I thought his prowess with the lightsaber would resonate with your own – his insolence notwithstanding. Clearly I was wrong."

"We all have our moments, Master." Dja-Ke replied. "As I recall, I remember a few years ago of a certain insolent – but talented - Padawan who called a certain Lorrdian Jedi a 'blinking slave-driver' after a particularly exhausting sparring session."

Qaric Zen laughed boisterously upon hearing Dja-Ke's response. "Nostalgia is quite unbecoming of you, my old apprentice," Master Zen ceased his laughter and looked at him.

"But the boy is a natural duelist is he not?" Said he, more of a statement than a question.

"Very much so." Replied Dja-Ke, absentmindedly running a hand over his right shoulder – where the invisible mark of his near-defeat was. _Still only a boy._

"You know me too well Master Qaric."

"Apparently not well enough," The Lorrdian Jedi replied, his arms folded across the breast of his ashen tunic. "I was expecting a very angry Dja-Ke Saden storming in here, demanding answers."

"Anger is not part of the Jedi tenet-" Said Dja-Ke in reflex, something that he regretted immediately.

"Indeed it is not Dja-Ke." Master Zen placed a hand on his shoulder. "But you of all people know my views and teachings, we as living beings have the right to be angry – but we as Jedi must not dwell on that anger. Others may not agree on my methods, and that is quite alright. Our Force-given wisdom allows us to interpret it in many different ways." The Jedi Master paused briefly. "And some interpret it far more extremely than others."

Dja-Ke merely nodded. He need not a straightforward explanation to recognize the 'extremity' of the Sith and their teachings.

Qaric Zen waved a hand dismissively. "Look at me rambling away like some senile historian." Dja-Ke detected a flash of bitterness that laced Master Zen's attempt at levity.

"You are no longer my Padawan, Dja-Ke. By nature it is not my place to advise you."

"Master you know that's not true." Spoke Dja-Ke, with a tone of voice that bordered on disbelief. He may not always agree with his former Master, but to him, counsel was counsel, no matter what.

"All I hope is that you will take my words just as what they are, mere words." Master Qaric held up a hand, the universal sign to quell any further interruptions. "You are your own person, and only you, through the Force, should dictate what is right and what is wrong." Qaric Zen said sternly, conveying a pregnant pause between the two of them. "Your next assignment comes from Grand Master Shan herself. Whether you will undertake it alone or with an apprentice is entirely within your purview. May the Force be with you, Dja-Ke Saden."

Gone was the bitter Qaric Zen of before, now facing Dja-Ke stood a Jedi Master of the Order, a wave of tranquility radiated from him as he spoke the customary phrase of the Jedi.

"May it be with you as well, Master Qaric."

They embraced and went their separate ways.

The time to meet with his former Master was few and far in between, but whenever he did find the moment to do so, he always left with peace, and extraordinarily, a reassured sense of purpose.

The Jedi of the Order however, did not share the same level of admiration regarding Qaric Zen. Infamously known as a nonconformist, Master Zen was viewed with curiosity by those who had a passing interest in him, and loathing by those who did not agree with his view of the more thoughtful aspects of the Force.

Even as a Padawan several years ago, Dja-Ke himself did not fully agree or understand some of the more philosophical teachings of the Lorrdian Master. Despite that; his respect towards Qaric Zen was a constant thing. Was not his Master's complete apathy towards his detractors a vital embodiment of the Jedi way?

And regardless of the many years of service in the Enclaves, a wealth of experience and a deep understanding of the Force, Master Zen was never approached by the Council of Twelve to join their ranks. No doubt the result of his reputation as a maverick, Dja-Ke thought hotly – an emotion the he would classify later as that of righteous fury.

Arriving at the study chamber of the Grand Master, Dja-Ke willed his resentment to retreat.

_There is no emotion, there is peace_. Dja-Ke silently mouthed. _Especially in front of our Grand Master_, he added wryly.

His apprehension was duly warranted. Although Dja-Ke had only seen the Grand Master once in his youngling years, the stories of Satele Shan – a Jedi Knight who kept the fragile peace between the Republic and the Empire and her meteoric rise within the Order, was the stuff of legends. Padawans strived for direct apprenticeship under her, Knights marveled at her prowess in battle, and Masters deferred her judgment. Dja-Ke was going to meet face-to-face with a living legend and it took him every ounce of his willpower to find his center again. Still throbbing with uneasy calm, he grabbed the twin metallic handle and paused briefly.

Unlike the many entryways inside the Jedi Temple in Tython, these doors are not powered by electricity nor are they outfitted with the standard motion-detectors for any automated mobility. The dark orowood double doors leading to the Grand Master's private study are heavy - almost imposing in its carved silence. It was a figurative representation of the Order's commitment, to all manner of life in the natural world.

Dja-Ke however, has always thought differently on the underlying symbolism of the wooden portal. Anyone with the intent of traversing in or out of the room will be required to push open the solid wooden doors with the strength of their own arms. To him, it represents the labors needed to attain the highest position in the Jedi Order – ostensibly, it represents the determination and the will to advance. Finally drawing on that very same determination, Dja-Ke gripped the metal handles more firmly and with that, he pushed.

As he stepped in, Grand Master Satele Shan was on her seat, studying intently a luminous yellow holocron; she had an elbow resting languidly on the desk. In self-contemplation, she almost looked just like any other Jedi. Almost.

Halfway between anticipation and apprehension, Dja-Ke approached her. "Grand Master Shan?"

"Yes?" Satele Shan said, her gaze now on Dja-Ke; the glowing pyramid forgotten. "How are you this fine day?"

Dja-Ke visibly balked. He was not expecting the Grand Master of the Jedi Order to engage him in small-talk! Regardless, the threat of further humiliation spurred him to speak whatever indistinct thought that crossed his mind. Only when the Grand Master smiled warmly at him did he calm.

"It's alright Master Saden, do not be nervous." Being addressed as 'Master' albeit for formality's sake had the desired effect to Dja-Ke. He could feel the anxiety ebb away from him –quickly replaced by humility.

"Thank you Master Shan," Dja-Ke finally managed to say – this time making sure that his voice remained inert. "I was told to report to you for my next assignment?"

"Yes," The Grand Master walked towards him. "Republic forces in Ord Mantell have sent word to us." She stood now before Dja-Ke, who felt her towering over him inexplicably despite being a full head shorter.

"Is it about the separatist threat?"

Dja-Ke had heard stories about Ord Mantell's decision to ally with the Republic, a decision that had proved quite unpopular with some of the planet's populace.

"Indeed." Grand Master Shan nodded sagely. "The planet is under great unrest, with Republic troops being stretched far too thinly to quell the many riots and in-fighting."

"Naturally, they asked for Jedi intervention?" Said Dja-Ke with a barely concealed smirk. He was infinitely relieved when the Grand Master replied with a smile of her own.

"Jedi _assistance_ was the official word as I recall." She replied, with a touch of amusement. "This mission however, will not be as straightforward as the Republic points it to be."

Dja-Ke quirked an eyebrow, different scenarios of civil war between Mantellians with battalions of Sith played in his mind. "I'm not sure I understand, Master Shan."

"Officially, your presence in the planet is to provide support the Republic garrison, which in turn, is supporting the local government." Satele Shan produced a datapad from the many folds of her robe. "The Council finds that the current methods by Republic troops in handling the separatist situation in Ord Mantell to be less than effective." With a touch of her fingers, a hologram came to life. It was an image of a human female. "This woman will be your contact in Ord Mantell."

The rotating image cast a soft bluish glow. Even via holoprojection, the young woman's grin was a beacon of blithe. A fierce-looking scar that ran from her shapely jawline however, shattered any illusion of helplessness. For some reason unknown to Dja-Ke, he found the hint of violence to be quite admirable. "Does she have a name?"

"Her exact name is unknown to us."

"The Republic has no records of her?" Dja-Ke exclaimed, this time eschewing any effort to restrain his surprise. "Either she is a complete recluse or was born in Wild Space to not have her essential data recorded." A particularly vivid childhood memory of Republic census droids and their thoroughness in cataloging his biometrics fueled his query.

"She might have hailed from somewhere far closer than you think, Master Saden." Grand Master Shan chided, although not unkindly. "She is simply known by a codename, _Eharl_. Does that help you in gleaning her origins?"

Dja-Ke furrowed his brows in confusion. "I can't say that it does, Master Shan."

Master Shan offered him again one of her astute nods. "Regardless, her role as your contact is due to her unique position in this power struggle. Eharl provides both Republic forces and the Mantellian separatist with supplies."

The way Master Shan had worded 'supplies' meant that they were likely illegal, or dangerous. Dja-Ke presumed both. "So this Eharl is a smuggler then?"

"That is indeed one way to categorize her yes," Master Shan said. "Although I believe she prefers to be called a 'merchant'."

"Don't they all?" Dja-Ke let a chuckle escape but immediately hoped with all his being that Satele Shan's static smile was genuine.

"Her exact coordinates in Ord Mantell and your full mission briefing can be found in more detail in this datapad." Said Master Shan, placing the electronic device in Dja-Ke's hands. "The Council does not forbid you from participating in the fight against the separatists. I however, would like to emphasize caution and subtlety here."

In an unconscious pantomime of the Grand Master, Dja-Ke simple nodded. In his center however, he was brimming with excitement. Surely a mission that required this level of secrecy was of the utmost importance!

"I realize that violence at times can be inevitable." Her visage hardened for a brief instant. "But know Dja-Ke Saden, that there is always a way to mitigate bloodshed even when all seemed lost."

"Yes, Master Shan." Dja-Ke bowed his head dutifully. _I will not fail_.

The Grand Master's gaze softened considerably. "The Council chose you for a reason Dja-Ke, your words during the hijacking of the _Ascendant_ ensured the survival of both the hostages and Republic forces aboard the ship."

Dja-Ke remained silent at the memory and trembled lightly at the thought. He did not dare to imagine the outcome of the _Ascendant_ crisis should he followed through with his initial plan of a pre-emptive strike. His decision to negotiate with the Trandoshan slavers was a mere whim, one that earned him the blasted moniker.

'_Peacemaker_', he mouthed it in silence.

A title that Dja-Ke felt he did not deserve.

"Furthermore, we believe that this mission will be a great learning opportunity for your new Padawan."

A rush of cool air washed over Dja-Ke from a nearby window. The Padawan problem had been all but forgotten in light of his new mission.

"Is something the matter, Dja-Ke?" Said Master Shan, a look of concern was on her face.

His unsettled feelings were not hidden as well as he would have liked.

"Master Shan – with all due respect, I wish to travel to Ord Mantell alone." Dja-Ke intoned, looking straight at her. "I do not feel that I am ready to take a Padawan learner."

"May I ask why?"

Dja-Ke was at a loss of words. How can he tell Satele Shan, the Grand Master of the Jedi Order, leader of the High Council, of his opinion towards the matter? Of young Jedi being sent into the field of battle? Of the freshly-etched names of Padawan learners in the Halls of Memory? The great injustice of it all? Better yet, how can he tell the supreme head of the Order that she and her Council are wrong?

"Because he is just a child." Dja-Ke finally replied. "It's not fair for us, Jedi or not, to expect him to forfeit his life in battle." The cynical sting in his words was barely contained.

The Grand Master strode closer to him, her gaze unwavering. "I do not blame you for your thoughts, Master Saden." Satele Shan kindly said. "Not many who are scarred by war can remain true, but I am glad that your sense of justice still stems from kindness and compassion." She placed a hand on each of his shoulders. "I understand your inner plight, Dja-Ke Saden. But I do think you will be committing a great disservice to your potential Padawan should you not choose him."

Dja-Ke flushed, _Disservice_? "By allowing him to live?"

"By taking away his chance to face his own trials and tribulations." Master Shan locked her gaze firmly. "Jedi strive for personal growth. We are connected to the Force, but we are also responsible for our connection, our sensitivity to it. It is because of this responsibility that we are the guardians of peace and justice."

Dja-Ke remained silent. While he was steadfast in his beliefs, he cannot help but be interested in further hearing Master Shan's words.

"Younglings train within the protective confines of the Academy in preparation for their role later on as Padawans. But Padawans train with their Masters to learn from experience, to learn how to protect others from your protection and to better themselves through personal guidance. _Your_ guidance."

Dja-Ke bit the urge to offer a counter-argument. Instead, he chose to avert the Grand Master's eyes in an insignificant act of rebellion. She offered a very textbook answer to his problems and it still had not calmed him an iota.

"This is your personal struggle Dja-Ke Saden, and I understand." She said to him. "But is it not the audacity of Masters that dare to take up learners in this time of war that make Padawans into full-fledged Jedi Knights?"

Never in his entire life had he felt so small. Not because of the inherent truth in her words, but by the realization of his own Knighthood, and how it was a direct result of those Masters' audacity. Dja-Ke was sure that Master Shan had intended him to make this connection.

"Remember, that before you became a Jedi Knight, you were a Padawan." She added needlessly. "I await your report in person, Dja-Ke Saden. The Force is with you."

Satele Shan gave Dja-Ke a nod, one that undoubtedly concluded their meeting.

Dja-Ke bowed his head in return. "And with you, Grand Master Shan." And left.

As he shut the doors closed, a faint but unmistakably firm voice came upon him.

_I trust you to do the right thing Dja-Ke_. Said the telepathic words of Satele Shan.

_But what is the right thing_? He asked back. The Grand Master never replied.

With a very audible sigh, Dja-Ke made his way to the youngling Dormitories. The temptation to just abandon the imposed responsibility and leave as hastily as possible was truly strong. He almost laughed at the thought, neglecting a duty to accomplish another duty was a ridiculous concept which bordered on cowardly. But on the other hand, it was his honest opinion to rebuff the Order's penchant for sending Apprentices to warzones.

Yet ironically, he was only a few paces away in undermining that personal philosophy. Grand Master Shan's words bit deeply at his core. _You were once a Padawan too_, she had said and she was immensely right.

But Dja-Ke knew in his heart of hearts that would rather fight to the death than surrender. He was afraid - afraid of his actions and afraid of the responsibility of another life directly under him. Dja-Ke felt as if he had two metaphysical brains inside his head, both fighting for dominance, both seemingly in the right.

Rubbing his aching temple all the while, he told one of the minders – a matronly Ithorian, for Oren Dorr. The boy came to him soon enough, all smiles and adequately prepared with a knapsack loosely slung over his shoulder.

Dja-Ke extended a hand towards Oren and with the calmest expression he could muster, the pair went to board their transport bound for Ord Mantell.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Intergalactic travel has always been a very peculiar paradox. There was beauty to be found in multicolored stars and clouds of nebulae or in the momentous instance where a starship tears through time and space into the streaking tunnel of warpspeed. Yet the threat of danger and death was so very pronounced in such a splendor - where a malfunctioning hyperdrive core could mean a very catastrophic implosion for the ship or a very messy end for the passengers inside should the inertial compensator decided to mysteriously switch off.

The _Luminal_ however, was guaranteed to be incapable of such accidents. A prototype from the Corellia-based Rendili Vehicle Corporation, the ship was part of the first series in their _Emissary_-class light cruisers on loan to the Jedi Order. True to its namesake, the ships were designed specifically to transport Jedi ambassadors, Consulars and other diplomatic envoys; complete with sleeping quarters, a fully equipped salon for conferences, a dining room and an untold number of austerely-designed refreshers.

It was of the utmost peculiarity that the Order's frugal sentiments were not portrayed as well as it should have despite the _Luminal_'s status as a Jedi ship. One such example of luxury were the living quarters - ostensibly miniature apartments, with two smart-sleepers able to mold comfortably to any being that slept upon them and a side table complete with a collapsible viewscreen-chrono combo.

But what sets apart the _Luminal_ from other cruisers was the inclusion of the salon pod. The salon was unique in the sense that it was in fact, the most secure and heavily armored part of the ship, with layers of alternating durasteel and chaff particles to simultaneously ward of turbolasers and prevent electronic sapping attempts.

Despite its durability, the salon was hardly understocked in terms of conveniences. An industrial-size conservator stood a lone vigil overlooking a large conference table stacked by cushioned chairs – utilizing the very same molding-foam technology of the sleepers.

In a disastrous event where ejection is prudent, the salon pod can safely separate from the ship. With food supplies, a standard week's worth of breathable atmosphere and state-of-the-art shock dampeners, survivors in the salon can enjoy a safe and not to mention, luxurious, landing. Comfort and leisure were indeed two of the main motives in mind for the passengers onboard the _Luminal_.

Newly apprenticed Oren Dorr was one such traveler who was thoroughly enjoying the ship's amenities. Lightly humming to himself, Oren marveled at the _Luminal_'s interior as he paced a particularly well-lit corridor – deliberately slowing his buoyed steps into a more somber semblance of a walk. His enthusiasm was palpably visible.

And how could he not be?

He was hours away from his first mission for the Order.

He was one of the first passengers on one of the most advanced cruisers in Republic space.

Most importantly, he was not just one of the Order's many nameless younglings anymore. He was a Padawan now, one step closer to being a full-fledged Jedi.

Oren walked through the automatic doors of the salon and found himself in the most extravagant room he'd ever seen in his twelve years of being. He skirted around the conference table and gingerly ran two fingers on the glasteel surface, feeling its curved smoothness. His fingers then moved onto one of the cushioned chairs, dark and spherical and very comfortable. Oren sat on it and was pleasantly surprised to find that the seat was outfitted with hinges on its central leg to allow him to pivot. He cast a wary glance to the salon entrance and found no one. Oren however, remained unsatisfied.

_If only I can see through walls…_

It took Oren a full standard minute to sulk in his perceived inability before he smacked his forehead. Mentally, of course.

With the remnant of a sheepish smile, Oren closed his eyes and instead, broadened them through the Force. And just like that, the _Luminal_'s durasteel hulls, as beautifully designed as they were, became inconsequential.

Oren started nearby, feeling four beings in the sleeping quarters; he surmised that they were part of the ship's crew.

He then went further, into the engine room. He felt the cool stillness of the sublight engines alongside the lively hum of the hyperdrive, noting the contrast between two such machines.

The captain and officers' quarters were empty. Not strange, as the cruiser was running with half of its crew for a short run to Ord Mantell and back.

There was only one place left to check, so Oren spread his feelers to the cockpit. He sensed six living signatures, with four of them stationary, seated across each other. The last pair was oriented higher than the rest; they were standing close, in conversation perhaps.

Oren knew at that instant that the two figures were the captain and his new Master. It was quite simple to differentiate who was who. The captain, a Mon Calamari named Jhefal, possessed a life signature much like the rest of the crew – a dull, but rhythmic throb in the Force.

Not unlike the second life form. The rhythmic pulse of life remained, but whereas a non-Force-sensitive was only a glimmer of Force energy in its core, Dja-Ke Saden's center was positively luminous. It was the unmistakable impression of a Jedi.

Finally satisfied that no one would disturb him anytime soon, Oren slumped back into his seat, sighing contentedly at the cushion's pliability. Comfortably seated, he brought his Czerkatech300 datapad in front of him and began searching for the recording he found on Ord Mantell.

Or he would have, if the datapad would turn on.

Oren clicked his tongue in annoyance at the black, pre-boot screen. Although thinner and more portable than its competitors, the Czerkatech300 was notorious for its low battery life, requiring at least one charge-up every two standard days. The device's physical endurance also has left much to be desired, as dust and sand often would accumulate electro-statically in its many ports and sockets.

He repeatedly tugged the datapad's power switch to no success. It seemed that it was only two years ago when he bested a Zabrak youngling in an impromptu practice duel and claimed her Czerkatech300 as the prize. He remembered the sheer thrill of the unsanctioned fight and the momentous triumph afterwards as he glossed over the brown rectangular datapad, so lustrous, so compliant and responsive to his touches whether it be accessing HoloNet feeds or downloading data from the Temple's archives.

Had Oren's life not lie in the confines of the Order and was free to pursue his technophile desires, many a vendor would undoubtedly advise him to abandon Czerka Corporation's ever-increasingly obsolete device. Some would even offer very attractive trade-ins of newer and more efficient models at a fraction of the original price.

But he had invested so much of his life to ever truly part with it.

Oren's possession of the datapad in an environment where such personal items were strictly forbidden has made him quite the local legend amongst the children of the Academy. The nights following his victory were often sleepless, with him being awake to keep the multitude of challengers vying for the device at bay, or just the nights where he could cruise the datastream for hours and hours on end.

In short, the sentimental value of the item had far encompassed its physical size.

Red-faced in aggravation, Oren threw his hands in the air and let the malfunctioning datapad slide to the middle of the conference table. He tucked his legs and spun around with the chair for some minutes, his thoughts were a jumble of recollections, trying his hardest to remember if Ord Mantell had three moons, or was that Byss?

Only a beeping noise from the neglected datapad did rouse him to an upright position. Oren called upon the Force to pull the device into his hand. Much to his delight, the datapad's internal processor had finished resolving whatever it was that internal processors find so vexing. Gone was the dark screen of before, the light blue of the Czerkatech300's menu display was in its place. With a gesture on its touch-sensitive screen, the Archive soundbyte on Ord Mantell crackled into life.

"Ord Mantell." The vocoderized voice of the datapad beckoned. "The second planet located in the Bright Jewel Cluster - which in turn, is located in the Galaxy's Mid Rim - is an industrial planet colonized by Corellian-born Republic pioneers approximately 8400 years before the Treaty of Coruscant-"

The loud _woosh_ from the opening of the salon doors caused Oren to tap the _mute_ button on the device. It was none other than Dja-Ke Saden, who gave him a courteous nod before making his way to the nearby beverage dispenser. Oren immediately stood up in attention, remembering the words of Minder Aawaia.

_Always give the senior members of our Order their proper respects_, said she. And although Oren could never piece the connection between one's upright position and respect, he did it anyways.

His new Master had finished pouring himself a mug of caf before he turned towards Oren. "Would you like anything to drink?"

Oren raised his eyes in surprise, was he not the one who should be serving his Master with beverages and the like? Deducing that this was some sort of an elaborate test, Oren spent a few tumultuous seconds with multiple scenarios running through his thoughts. He finally settled on 'Dianogan tea' for his most 'Jedi-like' beverage, only for Dja-Ke Saden to repeat himself.

"Would you like me to get you something?"

"I-uh, Dianogan tea would be fine-" Oren stiffly said in an attempt at a neutral Coruscanti Basic. "-Master." He hastily added, feeling the onset of a blush threatening to spill over his cheeks.

"That's certainly an interesting choice for a drink there." Said Dja-Ke with a look of amused uncertainty. "Personally, I could never understand why some people can drink tea leaves drenched in the bowels of a trash-slug, but I suppose everyone has their own favorites."

Oren grimaced at the revelation, and here he thought that the beverage was an intelligent-sounding name he stumbled on the HoloNet once. His Master put a mugful of the hot, finished tea in his hands and sat on the chair across from him. Oren slowly and discretely breathed in the plume of hot air emanating from the mug. To his relief it did not smell of trash or slug-guts, but the brackish liquid did not exude the herbal freshness that was commonly found in tea as well.

Deciding to not try his fate with the beverage at this moment in time - or ever, Oren turned his attention towards Dja-Ke. "Master?"

"Yes, Oren?" Dja-Ke glanced slightly at him before taking a sip of caf.

"How old are you exactly?"

Oren had always been meaning to ask the question ever since he heard the story of a single Jedi thwarting a hijacking attempt by slavers and in turn, saved the lives of more than a thousand sentients with mere words. The headlines on the Net called Dja-Ke Saden many things. '_Jedi Guardian'_ one said,'_Fearless Negotiator_'the others dubbed him, but out of all of them, '_Peacemaker'_ seemed to truly stick.

"I'll be twenty four years-old in a few months." Dja-Ke replied, not bothering to mask his amusement. "Although earlier this morning I was thinking that I won't live to celebrate it."

The flush of crimson that threatened to consume the entirety of Oren's face returned with a vengeance. Even though he knew that ambushing a Jedi Knight was not the most intelligent to do, it did seem like a good idea at the time.

"I-well, I'm really sorry for earlier this morning." Oren stammered, his Basic now resembled the slang-filled Coruscant dialect found in its undercities than its more senatorial variant. "It was stupid and immature. I'm really sorry, Master." He hung his head low for a much needed emphasis on remorse. His fingers were suddenly the most interesting object in the room.

"And?"

Oren looked resolute. "And it won't happen again. I promise."

"As long as you realize the mistake, Oren." Dja-Ke said, lightening the situation with a smile. "Although I'd like to ask you a question."

"Uh… what is it, Master?" Oren replied apprehensively.

"Tell me the story on how you learned Form IV," Dja-Ke scooted closer towards him. "Because I'm pretty sure that the younglings were not taught beyond the first Form."

Oren's worried expression turned into a broad grin.

Dja-Ke could not help but smile back at his Padawan.

A ship-wide announcement alerted them both of their impending exit from hyperspace. With that, both Master and Padawan travelled to the living quarters to prepare their belongings. Sitting on a sleeper across Oren, Dja-Ke felt the excitement emanating from his new apprentice. It reminded him of his first-ever mission with Master Qaric years ago – an archeological assignment in an Outer Rim planet called Tattooine.

In a strange and unanticipated turn, Dja-Ke found that his new charge and he were very alike in so many ways. Firstly, both Oren and he displayed a predilection towards the art of dueling. Dja-Ke had been very impressed during their earlier duel with Oren's prowess in Ataru, but was far more awed when his new apprentice had shared the fact – quite nonchalantly he might add, that his usage of Form IV was through texts and holorecords.

Like Dja-Ke, Oren had taken to himself to transcend the basic way of the lightsaber offered by Form I. Shii-Cho in itself contained no faults that merited such derision, it was an important form to learn due to the fact that other lightsaber forms stemmed from it. It was a simple form to learn and there was indeed great strength to be found in its simplicity, but Dja-Ke had found it lacking. The thought of Oren thinking the exact same thing as he trained in Aggression fueled him with a sense of camaraderie.

And yet no two persons were ever completely similar, so it did not surprise Dja-Ke in the least to know that his new apprentice was so vastly different from what he could remember of himself in his Padawan days. Oren was brash, strong in his beliefs and from the few incidents which he had inadvertently outlined – one involving a wholly unsanctioned contest of acrobatics across the Youngling Dormitories – very mischievous.

Not that Dja-Ke needed any more convincing on that part, as he ran a hand over his left shoulder. Oren apparently had set his lightsaber to its lowest setting before their duel which had finally explained the lack of wound. Dja-Ke took comfort in knowing that his new apprentice, although impulsive, was not unkind.

In fact, Oren Dorr was a champion of sorts for the downtrodden children of the Order, wild hand gestures notwithstanding. Delighting the younger learners with his illicit performances and contests, as well as defending them from the more unkind Initiates. It was charity in its most insular form, but from the way Oren had willingly described it, he might as well be Master Dorr, slayer of bullies, paragon to younglings in the whole Galaxy.

_Therein lies the problem_, Dja-Ke grimaced.

During the short time that they conversed, Dja-Ke had come to the realization that he actually _liked_ his new Padawan. He could not help but feel his earlier misgivings ebb away at the situation.

_What happened to no children involved in war_? He asked himself.

Was this how every reluctant Master resigned themselves to? Did the combination of duty and companionship proved too potent that it had made him lose sight of his principles? Or was this just a phase, a short-lived yet giddy reaction towards those who shared an interest?

A voice, undoubtedly his own, nagged at Dja-Ke's subconscious. How easy it was to play the aloof Master, be cold, calculating and distant. But another voice – one that had better sense and one that Dja-Ke hoped was his true self – offered a counterargument.

_You could be a barve about it sure, but what did he do to deserve it_? It said.

_It's not fair, and you know it._ It finished with an image of Grand Master Shan, her arms folded and nodding her head in exaggerated disapproval.

Dja-Ke smiled wryly at the thought. A sudden, but not uncomfortable turbulence jolted the _Luminal_ and everyone aboard. Oren, whose experience with hyperdrive travel was non-existent sprang up to his feet and looked at Dja-Ke with wary eyes.

"We just came out from hyperspace." Dja-Ke said. He was tempted to add _nothing's wrong_, but found it redundant. Oren grinned at him, more from embarrassment than mirth before he went back to sit on one of the smart-sleepers.

Oren caught Dja-Ke's less-than-happy expression. "What's wrong, Master?"

Dja-Ke's mind flashed through the words, _the Galaxy_._ The war_. _You_,only to immediately bite back the backhanded retort. Instead, he lied. "It's nothing."

"Just thinking about the mission, that's all." That part was a half-truth. "I have a feeling that we won't be back in time for dinner in the Temple."

Oren paused briefly and then smirked loudly. The joke was not funny, but the Padawan had indulged his Master simply out of courtesy. "How long will we be needed?"

"Just right after we establish stability, or as long as our Commanding Officer wills it." Dja-Ke replied. "I'm guessing more than a week, but no more than a month." He added upon seeing Oren's confused expression. "Homesick already?"

"Not a chance." Oren exclaimed, just a bit too loud and eager than he intended. He offered Dja-Ke an apologetic smile.

Dja-Ke merely nodded. "We'll do fine as long as we work together." He projected just a smidgen of calmness through his words. "The Force is with us, Oren." He concluded. It was a nice touch of much-needed gravitas and Dja-Ke felt powerful as he said it. He briefly wondered if this feeling of sagacious authority will either fade or remain.

The steady hum of the sublight engines ceased and the much louder screech of the _Luminal_ entering Ord Mantell's smog-filled atmosphere became their only welcoming fanfare.


End file.
